


Skipped Beat

by optimisticDuelist (lasciviousWildheart)



Category: Vast Error
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Black/Red Vacillation, M/M, Mid-Canon, Pining, Role Switching, Speculative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 09:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciviousWildheart/pseuds/optimisticDuelist
Summary: guys i just got here and dont know what im doing but imma be real murrit/dismas is everything that matters in this entire life, thanks





	Skipped Beat

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [vast error](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/438828) by austin & sparaze. 



> shout out to kate vasterror for ruining my life, this ones for you  
> also thanks 4 editin this

DISMAS: Shut UP you /\sshole, gi\/e it the fuck b/\ck or I’m outt/\ here /\nd you c/\n fix this mess yourself///  
DISMAS: You selfish stubborn n/\rcissistic PRICK, /\UGH!!! ////  
  
Your name is MURRIT TURKIN, and you may have just fucked up.

You don’t rly notice you’re nervous until it sneaks up on ya, shanks you from behind the way you always swore you’d never get caught succumbin’ to back during the old days. Back before you’d learned literally as much relevant info as there was to know, and spent every bitter moment since waiting to figure out more. Waiting to find out if literally anything would ever matter again, or ever did to begin with even.

But you’re not really nervous, of course. You’re totally chill, you’re cool, you’re fine. It’s just been a while since you had to do QUITE this much running around, is all. Even your miniature dungeons or your short sprints through Dersite halls and streets, always a couple sharp alley turns away from safety and secrecy, couldn’t prepare you for this.

This seemingly endless marathon you’re running that drags on, and on, and on across your planets. Six of you in, now. Skaia hangs sick and dull, eating up the sky like. Like a hole, fit to expand and eat you all up. You’re still not sure what’s next, after the last meteor finally hits that thing just right and Skaia’s black inches of--are those clouds? Hot, wet, sticky ink?--let loose all over your plump, impudent asses. 

That’s what that bump in your heartbeat was, you tell yourself. Just the typical existential dread paired with higher than average exercise, that’s all. Especially since it’s not like you’re gonna lose face in front of ya boy, and Dismas gets tired practically never. No wonder your heart raced a little. That’s totally within expected parameters, considering you haven’t slept in 28 hours.  
.  
.  
.  
But you look at Dismas again out of the bottom of your shutter shades as he leans up at you, fist crumpling your hawaiian shirt, all spread out knees with his chest pressed into yours and his arm shooting right past, your neck and shoulder and there’s no shadow of a doubt that’s not it at all. That wasn’t the regular self-assured confidence pounding through your heart (plus other relevant parts of you) you felt on the regular getting physical with Dismas. That was...a god damned flutter. A full-on swoon, almost. 

It’s the goddang scarf that got you. Dismas has punched, kicked, sliced, and shot himself right into hell and right back out hundreds of times by now, dozens of those gauntlets of your own personal doing. Nothing shakes him anymore, and if anything he’s seemed almost relaxed now that you’ve left his lusus behind. Except...he’s still got that scarf on. 

 

On Repiton, it made sense. Even here, with other people around...maybe it was satisfying. But lately he’s been keeping it on when its just the two of you, even the last couple times you’ve found a nice corner to hide in...and, well. Maybe it just kind of pissed you off for a second there. 

And so you grinned your shit-eating grin, he looked at you bored and annoyed and expectant like always, and you just...took it. Snatched the ugly rag right off his face and grinned at the fireworks.

Only now you finally realize, with Dismas pressed up against you, with that sheen in his eyes he gets when you do something really mean and he might actually cry, when you press him somewhere that really hurts-- That you don’t think you planned this one out, chief. You really might be fucked. 

For an moment, you don’t think you know what to say next. At least, not anything that fits into your common language. The easygoing challenge you speak through. You think of something suitably biting to say--encouraging, but also mocking. Judgmental, maybe even aloof--make it about him hampering his senses or something? No, the rocks burnt his nose and tongue to numbness years ago, that’d just make it worse, ah--

Bzzt! The Automatic Murrit Thought Timer ran out on you, for once. Your tongue leaves the station only halfway through your calculations, and what comes out is id unfiltered, just--

MURRIT: >([aw dont be like that, u kno some of us think you look cuter this way cowboss]  
DISMAS: ...///  
DISMAS: ...wh/\t///  


Fuck. That came out so different from your usual. You’re usually so much better at playing your part, hiding this part of it, but it’s just been so long since you could snuggle up to his pillow or have half a minute to your goddamn self to just think about what to do next, for a minute.  
So long since you had any leads to follow or plans to try--you don’t even have your video gear, goddamn it. You’re so tired. You have to do better than this.

 

You guess it’s just been hours, and hours, and hours of running this race now, and the only thing you were really hoping for was that whatever this game is would be over soon but that doesn’t seem to be happening. Both of you are still here, neither at peace nor unexisted nor being subjected to infinite hell like seemed to be promised. This is literally just...a big weird video game. Apocalypse aside, encroaching mystery misery notwithstanding, this doesn’t seem too damn different from a really good VR experience.

Except that Dismas is here, and you haven’t been this close together for this long since...back when you were in the business. Back before you really woke up. And it just kind of changes things, don’t it, to know there’s nothing left back home and nothing to look forward to? Or at least, shouldn’t it, damn it? There’s nobody around but you now, so what’s he got to be so embarassed about? What’s he got to gain from all the anger and sass? Ain’t you proven by now you ain’t got it in you to actually hurt him? Isn’t it obvious you should both just...chill?

You don’t know how to say any of that, though. Instead, like an idiot, you say

MURRIT: >([yeah]  
MURRIT: >([it’s uh, you know]  


You twist the scarf in your fist and deftly twist your fingers to draw it taut, lean into the stone completely and reach it with your other arm and perform some crude gesture of pleasure. Your grin twists and grows playful round your lips and everything almost feels familiar.

You tell yourself your heart isn’t racing now, and Dismas definitely isn’t already feeling it through the thin linings of his sleeve and your shirt, you tell yourself you didn’t just make the single slip up that he uses to crack you open like a safe. That you haven’t been caught, red-handed, like a thief. You think if you think this stuff hard enough, you’ll figure out a play him just right to make it a little more true.

But you’re tired of acting, and your performance is half-hearted, and Dismas is the sharpest boy in the world and an even sharper critic. You’re so totally busted. He scans your eyes and it’s like you can feel him sponging up every detail you left slip, add it to the puzzle of you in his head. His eyes flash a thick brown cocktail--first recognition of you, of what you’re doing, of what you’re really doing--and then? What? Disgust? Hate, fresh brewed? Confusion, for sure. Shock, definitely.

And the show is so alluring you feel a jolt of fondness and then fear simultaneously, full hormone and then pheromone, all your secrets fixing to spill to him now. You can’t let that happen. He assimilates the data seamlessly, breathes you in. You have to throw him off the trail again, you think in a panic. You can’t. This is checkmate.

Dismas pulls away from you, and he isn’t mad about the scarf anymore--in fact, if he feels anything, he isn’t showing it. His expression is awfully neutral in a way you’ve never seen. He seems...even sharper, all of a sudden. More awake. Good, you think grimly. At least this counts for something.

It’s only when he speaks that you hear the smooth, restrained anger. You brace yourself to lose everything in a way even worse than you thought. 

DISMAS: murrit///  
DISMAS: dude///  
DISMAS: _buddy_ ///  
DISMAS: wh/\t the hell is going on///  


He makes the buddy spiteful and mocking, but in a lazy way. He doesn’t just sound sick of your shit, which you expected. It’s worse: He just sounds really, really tired. Maybe even bored.  
What on earth are you going to do with yourself if Dismas finds you boring? If not being able to keep up the game means you’ve stopped being challenging, stopped being fun? Now that he’s got the edge, he’ll keep it forever--you both know it.

You don’t know how to ask that, either. You try vague and memeily mysterious, but your wit runs empty and your words run dry.

MURRIT: >([oh, u kno my man~ ]

 

The ironic meme you call a smile feels stiff and played out on your face, all the humor behind it stale and empty all of the sudden. Dated. Dismas calls your bluff.

DISMAS: no, fucking stop th/\t, /\t le/\st reser\/e your /\loof dumb/\ss bullshit to when you’re good /\t it///  
DISMAS: you’re flushed for me. You’re _pitying_ me--///  


He almost snarls on the word, and you definitely don’t feel yourself wincing somewhere. You’re sure it doesn’t show on your face. You’re sure. The Murrit buzzer goes off on its own again anyway.

MURRIT: >([look broe i gotta admit im feelin a little off]  
MURRIT: >([can we just drop it and forget dat eva happened]  
DISMAS: /\bsolutely FUCKING not ///  
DISMAS: _something_ tipped the sc/\les. /\nd you’\/e been keeping it /\ secret. _Lying_ to me///  
DISMAS: i me/\n i don’t know why the hell i’m surprised, i should know by now///  
There’s this really interesting spot on the edge of the cliff road you’re on where the whole thing gives way and it’s just the long backdrop of the fall. It’s fascinating. You’re just so aloof and ready for this and it doesn’t hurt a little at all, knowing the words that come next.

DISMAS: not to expect better from you///  
MURRIT: >([…]  


It doesn’t sound like the dare it usually does, this time. Just like a sullen judgment. You can’t think of a lie big enough to cover this, but you don’t know how to tell the truth, either. You wish he was awake, that he knew at least as much about all this as you do, find yourself wishing he’d find the answers you couldn’t dig up for you. If anyone could, it’d be him, you know. He was always better doing recon on the ground than you were.

He’s looking at you now, not just expectant but demanding, and not in the usual way where he’ll take whatever you care to give. It’d be so much easier if you didn’t like it, just for the moment. If it wasn’t a little bit of a relief.

DISMAS: so tell me///  
DISMAS: wh/\t is it///  
You also wish you could protect him from it forever, make it so he never has to know. You wish this awful black cliff face you’re facing could just keep being your little secret, yours and Lavian’s. You know what comes next if he learns. It’ll crush him, not for him but for Jentha, and it would kill him not to talk to her about it but he never world, he can’t, what’s coming is too big to put into words, like a static so loud it devours all feeling and meaning--

DISMAS: WELL!?///  
You fucked up again. Kept him waiting too long. Dismas leans onto is toes to punch the stone next to you with your fist caught right in the middle, and his hands are curled around his scarf and torn out of your fingers in an instant. It doesn’t hurt physically--you’re stronger by far--but his scarf hides his face away from you again. He gives you like, two more seconds. You’re still speechless.

MURRIT: >([]  
DISMAS: murrit if you don’t st/\rt t/\lking i /\m LE/\\\/ING, right now, /\nd getting my info from fucking Ellsee///  
Fucking shit.

MURRIT: >([aw no dude c’mon, ]  
MURRIT: >([you dont wanna go there diz bitch, you gotta trust me on this one homie sliced lips--]  
DISMAS: oh TH/\TS rich, i h/\\\/e to TRUST you now?///  
DISMAS: you /\sshole, i\/e been following you /\round for D/\YS b/\sed on the idiotic premise th/\t you h/\d h/\lf /\ d/\mn clue wh/\t you were doing /\t /\ll///  
DISMAS: you’\/e been doing this whole thing /\bout how i need to shut up /\nd follow you c/\use you know wh/\ts going on /\nd im /\ dumb/\ss who isnt Getting It yet!///  
DISMAS: /\nd now youre trying to be /\ll sensiti\/e /\nd needy /\nd getting me to open up??///  
DISMAS: for wh/\t, so you c/\n be MORE of /\ me/\n jerk /\bout e\/erything /\bout me i dont w/\nn/\ think /\bout?///  
DISMAS: /\nd pretend you’re so high /\nd mighty /\nd know ex/\ctly wh/\t youre doing when fuckin /\PP/\RENTLY you dont e\/en know wh/\t you w/\nt with us???///  
DISMAS: listen to yourself, you just used two stupid shitty pet nickn/\mes in the s/\me sentence /\nd neither w/\s /\ny good///  
DISMAS: youre hiding something big /\nd its not just th/\t you think my hideous disfiguring sc/\rs /\re “cute”, /\s if th/\t e\/en fuckin m/\kes sense to he/\r from YOU of /\ll people///  
DISMAS: /\s if it w/\snt enough th/\t youre /\ condescending prick /\ll the fuckin time now you w/\nt to be lo\/e do\/ey while you m/\ke me jump through hoops /\nd /\ct /\ll superior///  
DISMAS: /\re you re/\lly too stupid to re/\lize th/\t would just fuck e\/erything up///  
DISMAS: i c/\nt t/\ke your superior /\ct /\s some kind of sweet gesture without deciding i /\ctu/\lly /\m /\n idiot b/\by who needs to be h/\ndled with kid glo\/es///  
DISMAS: shouldnt th/\t be ob\/ious professor dumb/\ss///  
MURRIT: >([course its obvious ]  
MURRIT: >([why do you think i asked you to drop it]  
MURRIT: >([if it really bothers you that much ill just go work on my own stuff til im in the mood for our regular repartee and we’re back to normal again]  
MURRIT: >([who the hell cares, if i feel some type a way that you dont see sometimes, it doesnt have to change nothin]  
Incredibly, this might actually be the angriest you’ve seen Dismas. You could feel yourself digging a deeper ditch with every word, but the train was outta the station, and anyway being pissed off always makes him so pretty. You feel a tug in your pants despite yourself and your heart twists knowing you’re probably fucking everything up forever, here.

Dismas’ mouth visibly works under his scarf as he transitions from palpable fury to once again collecting himself, and you wonder what it’d be like if he let you look right at him when you were bumping in the dark for once. Kind of faces he’d make. He steals the train of thought from other you with a curt, cold, hurt

DISMAS: well fine then///  
DISMAS: keep your stupid sh/\des on /\long with th/\t /\rrog/\nt /\ttitude///  
DISMAS: you’re losing your h/\nd next time you touch my sc/\rf///  
It’s a new layer of threat to the game of violence between you, and it’s not exactly a wall by the standards of your kind, but neither of you are like most of them. He turns away, and that’s it:  
Everything is fucked forever. Maybe you won’t even mind if you really are doomed, after all.  
He’s right, obviously. You’re being a hypocrite, wanting things from him you won’t let him take back.

But maybe that’s worth it, if you don’t have to watch his heart break a bigger way. If he’s still young enough at heart to play pretend with, to keep entertained enough you don’t quite have to look right at what’s waiting dead ahead.

Ah. But you guess this means he’s done playing with you entirely, doesn’t it? You feel a pang of actual hurt, real regret. You wish you knew how to say the words, but this is too big for any words ever. It’s impossible to say them, too awful. So what comes out isn’t what you want to say, just the standard second best: good old anime quotes.

MURRIT: >([havent ya heard you shouldnt beg for things]

Dismas stops. He’s listening. So you still have this much power.

MURRIT: >([if you want something, slick slit]  
MURRIT: >([ya gotta take it yourself]  
MURRIT: >([or else ya wont get anything]  
He hears your dare. He stands up straighter for a moment, away from you. Breathes in so deep you see the nice ways his shoulders shift around it. You have half a moment to wonder if he heard the plea, to wonder if he’s really capable of everything you think he is.

Then things start happening very quickly. Or, maybe they slow down? Suddenly you’re not in charge of the beats anymore. In what seems like a single motion Dismas twists on the balls of his feet, reaches out and pulls your shutter shades right off your face and onto the floor where his boot snaps them neatly in half with calculated precision, brooking no quarter. The fluid motion of him keeps coming and coming at you, pulling you undone, your hawaiian shirt unzipped and torn bare for him.

You realize dimly there’s a dull green glow that waxes and wanes layered over everything thudding behind your eyes, on his face, in your head, and you still don’t realize what he’s doing until the Rogue of Mind takes the scarf off his face, presses his lips against yours and pulls hard, grinding his sharp teeth against your tongue and pulling the thoughts out of your skull. Stealing you out from inside yourself, every secret you’ve kept hidden, every premeditated pretense you’ve planned to dance through for him, everything--

\--If the knowledge of what’s coming for you phases him, weighs on him like it does you, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps going and going, slipping more of your mind directly out of you and into him, assimilating everything you’ve hidden without a word. If anything, instead of drawing straight up and dry with the banal horror of the future, he somehow sinks more fluid and gentle into your chest, against your stomach. 

 

His one hand finds your hair and tangles itself up in it rougher than he’s ever gotten away with touching you without a smack to the ass for his trouble. This time you babble something you don’t even hear that he ignores completely and he doesn’t so much as shift his weight. and somehow the other is finding the time to slip your shorts open and feeling your bulge out of your boxer briefs. 

This, well, this is new. You’ve bumped uglies before. a’course, but he’s never put a hand on you you didn’t make damn sure was demanded of him, certainly not before you were good and ready, and he’s definitely never heard you grunt and grasp in surprise like that before. It’s distracting, and you think being distracted is exposing even more for him to plunder out of your depths, but god damnit, at this point what do you care? He took everything you were scared of already, anyway. If this goes where it seems to be headed, maybe losing for once will be a fun time.

You can feel him observing you make these observations, and you can feel him deciding he’d really, truly like you to just shut up. His knife comes out of god knows where and rips your shorts and boxers straight in half and you’re bare for him and he’s still fully dressed, and you realize you well and truly don’t know what the hell is going on anymore. This isn’t the usual dance, these aren’t your usual steps, and it’s so easy for Dismas to knock you entirely off kilter, onto the ground where he follows and kisses and bites and takes, takes, takes from above you.

Calder, looking hurt and betrayed and too shitty and arrogant for you to keep giving a damn. Jack, looking hurt and betrayed but thinking too small for you to take it back, you could never make him see the bigger picture, the static threatening to snap entirely and dump all your casinos and winnings permanently into the black.

You regret a full one of those, probably, between the two of them. If only cause its less people to talk to, to distract from the noose closing tighter around all your necks. The intricate details of anthromunicipality meta you use to beat Lavian every time. Taz is cool because she gets how fucked you all are. Ellsee is bad, Ellsee is danger, Ellsee’s a door that leads to doom no matter what you do and no amount of being a prick to her is gonna change that--

Dismas’ bugle twists itself around yours and you straight up whine into the back of his neck as he pushes your knees up against your shoulders and out towards the floor and you somehow let your feet curl against the small of his back. His chest hair rubs right up against yours and this is a whole new Dismas, pushing you down every cliff of power he can find in your memories now that you’ve finally slipped up and given him a hook.

It’s a whole new you, too, lying on the floor helpless and vulnerable and hanging onto him for dear life. It’s all coming out now, every pang of pain and pity you’ve ever felt for him, every moment his smile was ravishing or he struck a pose that got your blood pumping or made a face that made you think yeah, alright, this bullshit existence is worth trying for after all.

He takes it all and makes it his, makes you his, and all you get back is this drumbeat thoughtwave of you dumbass you moron you fucking idiot, first irritated and frustrated and exhausted, then despairing and maybe even fearful, but soon more and more understanding and compassionate and even fond.

He finds all the pieces in you that are still allowed to be scared of the dark and holds them like he holds you both together in his hand, rubs them not yet loose but looser under his thumb like this spot between your shoulderblades you’ve never let him touch before. The last thing you feel him take is your rambling bumbling gratitude that he’s still here at all, that he didn’t just up and ditch you turned out to be mortal, after all.

What he gives back undoes you: knowing you never fooled him once with your antics, that his disappointment wasn’t much to do with mean barbs or sharp smacks but simply with your audacity in thinking you could fool him in the first place. That he was just waiting for you to get your act together, let him into the nature of the heist, be a real partner instead of a puppeteer trying and failing to pull his own strings.

For a moment you’re a different Thief, in a different life but under this same glimmering green eye. He evaluates you like she did her, they see right through your facades like paper and cut them to ribbons in a storm of darkness collapsing into darkness, lay you bare in places that don’t have names because they only exist for the two of you, Thieves being weighed on the scales and found wanting, perhaps--but also desired.

For all your sharpness, you were just as stuck as the rest of them. Maybe letting him break in is how you grow up. That’s a wild, hopeful thought of the kind you’re not used to, you’re not sure whether it came from him or you but it sits there, between you, and he pulls you close and you pull him tighter and there’s a sharp, wordless hiss as you both come to fruition inside the safety of the other, and everything’s alright for just this moment. Better than alright. Great, even.

When it’s done, he takes off his shirt and jeans, kicks off his shoes and declares simply

DISMAS: we’re c/\lling it /\ night///  
DISMAS: we both need sleep, /\nd i h/\\\/e /\ lot to c/\tch up on on Derse, /\pp/\rently///  
MURRIT: >([thats rly all u gotta say sharp chief]  
MURRIT: >([youre sure handling this imminent oblivion thing well all things considered]  
He takes a wry, unimpressed look down at you, torn shirt and obliterated undergarments, and rips his undershirt partway down the middle seemingly just to make you two a little more even. And maybe to see your bulge twinge in appreciation in response, which, yeah, maybe works so well it makes you feel a little like a barkbeast being rung a pavlov-branded dongshouter.

He keeps his boxers both functional and on, which, fair enough--you guess he did win this round, if you’re still keeping score. Things seem different now, both gentler and muddier, softer and more likely to hit you where it counts all at once. You think maybe you don’t mind so much.  
He throws himself down on the floor next to you, head propped in his arms, looking not at you but straight up at Skaia, locked in its murky black cell.

DISMAS: WH/\T imminent obli\/ion///  
DISMAS: /\ll i know is wh/\t you think /\nd th/\t you\/e mostly got /\ bunch of g/\ps you filled up in your he/\d///  
DISMAS: me/\ning youre mostly full of shit///  
DISMAS: /\nd wh/\t the hell else is new///  
DISMAS: tomorrow we’ll st/\rt /\sking /\round. prob/\bly not Ellsee, but /\lbion might h/\\\/e some ide/\s. t/\z /\nd /\rcjec /\re prob/\bly s/\fe too /\nd they c/\n /\t le/\st keep some eyes out///  
DISMAS: this is /\ te/\m pl/\yer g/\me dumb/\ss, no shit you c/\nt figure e\/erything out by yourself///  
DISMAS: we dont know /\nything /\bout how fucked we /\re or /\ren’t yet///  
He lays it out to simply, so matter-of-factly, that you actually don’t laugh. You just stare at him and breathe in the wonder of his obvious wisdom, and wonder what you were ever waiting for.  
Your heart’s laid bare, and it turns out Dismas slipped into shape for you like filling a glass of water, effortless. All of a sudden you have one less kid to corral and another commander to strategize with. 

He’s even remembering to prioritize keeping Ellsee out of the loop without you needing to be a pain in the ass about it. Dismas, you decide, is categorically the fucking best. You would tell him that, but there is such a thing as moving too fast. Slowly, you follow his gaze up to Skaia instead. And...it doesnt even seem that foreboding, right now. Mostly kind of peaceful and quiet. Dark, sure--but in a way that’s easy to hang with a bro and chill to, you know. 

Dicks out, arms slowly making their ways over each others shoulders, breathing evening out to slow and steady and easy. Maybe you fucked up the chronology on this bitch for all of you by slipping up just then, and if you did you’re not sure you wanna consider the consequences. But right here, right now, you think living this moment is worth it. And that’s gotta count for something, right?

MURRIT: >([i could probably skip forward and find out, you know]  
MURRIT: >([figure out whats coming and come tell you, or us, or something.]  
MURRIT: >([ive been thinking about the whole time shebang im supposed to be all riding like you on a bullride wednesday--]  
DISMAS: ple/\se shut up///  
MURRIT: >([but i didnt wanna i think, cuz i was, uh]  
MURRIT: >([scared]  
MURRIT: >([of finding out. or maybe just, leaving you behind. like how am i supposed to take up all your time if theres like twenty of me running around, you know, like--]  
DISMAS: murrit youre /\bsolutely right th/\t th/\ts /\n /\wful ide/\ /\nd recognizing it is the first sm/\rt thing you\/e e\/er done or s/\id///  
DISMAS: now PLE/\SE shut up///  
DISMAS: we c/\n t/\lk /\bout it in liter/\lly like fi\/e minutes, on derse, where we c/\n m/\ybe /\ctu/\lly do something producti\/e /\nd not be tot/\lly exh/\usted///  
DISMAS: if you e\/en try to st/\rt m/\king entire other murrits show up in my own person/\l timeline ill kill you /\ll with my b/\re h/\nds///  
DISMAS: now good night///  
And just like that, the choice is out of your hands. Stolen from you like the tickets to a concert you weren’t really feeling that much. Dismas makes it feel so easy, so obvious, that you almost want to laugh. You don’t want to get punched in the gut right now so you grin quietly to yourself instead. 

As you feel yourself finally, mercifully starting to doze off, that thought that chimed between you both at the end comes back to you, fuller now, sweeter even, warmer: For all your sharpness, you really were just as stuck as the rest of them. Just as...walled up inside yourself. 

Maybe letting him break in is how you grow up. 

It’s a nice thought, anyway.

. . . 

EPILOGUE:

Murrit spends like a good chunk of the game straight up pantsless after this. Several people suffer the indignity of dealing with his wisecracks while his knob’s just straight up out there, doing its thing. If they ever figure out how to make new items Murrit only succumbs to Dismas’ demands he put some damn pants off and stop talking about “his milkshake bringing all the cowboys to the yard so hard they tear his shorts off” once he has to see Jentha in person.  
Gotta re-balance the power dynamic through some kind of power move, after all.

Anyway the end and stuff better porn some other time probably

Murrit bottoming is gay rights


End file.
